


Moonshot

by magnolia_9



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Banter, First Kiss, Innuendo, Just very cute, M/M, Meet-Cute, Past Domestic Violence, Wingman Carl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 09:12:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15838230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnolia_9/pseuds/magnolia_9
Summary: The one where Carl keeps trying to get his harried, overworked dad to meet his baseball coach.





	Moonshot

**Author's Note:**

> For Regan Week 2017 (!!!!! not even joking, I’m actually that far behind) Kiss + AU prompts.

Rick pulled into a parking space with an unlovely screech of tires. He had the door thrown open before his seatbelt was unbuckled, and he launched himself out of the car the moment he was free. He only had a few hours before his graveyard shift at the station started, and he wanted to catch as much of his son’s baseball game as possible. He opened the back passenger side door and leaned inside.

“Come on, honey,” he said as he reached in to unbuckle Judith from her carseat. “Let’s go see your big brother play some baseball.”

“I can do it!” the five-year-old protested, pouting. “And I can walk, too,” she said, eyeing her father suspiciously as he held out his arms for her.

“I know you can, Jujubee. But how about a piggy-back ride?”

A piggy-back ride was an acceptable compromise. Judith giggled as Rick jogged over the field, her small arms clinging to his neck. Rick ran his eyes over the stands until he spotted Carol, and he made his way hastily over to her.

“There you are!” Carol called, pulling a sweatshirt off the seat beside her. “Saved you one.”

“Thank you,” Rick sighed gratefully, pulling Judith off his back and into his lap as he settled in. He caught sight of Carl at the edge of the dugout, waiting to go up to bat. Rick stood and waved at him a little frantically from the stands, Judith braced on his hip and frantically waving right along with him.

Carl lifted his gloved hand in acknowledgement.

Rick sat back down, relieved that his son had at least laid eyes on him. He checked his watch and frowned. Picking up these late shifts had been a necessity, with the way Judith was growing out of her clothes faster than he could blink and Carl was forever needing new textbooks and uniforms and equipment. But he hated how it cut into his time with them. Carl kept asking when he would be able to see an entire game through to the end.

_End’s the best part, dad. That’s when it gets exciting. Besides, I want you to meet my coach._

He had been saying that since the start of the season, and it was another thing to feel guilty about. Carl actually wanting him to meet one of his teachers - that was a first, and so far Rick hadn’t been able to manage it.

He turned to Carol, who was clapping and cheering enthusiastically beside him. Her daughter Sophia was waiting to bat after Carl, her blonde hair streaming from her helmet. She flashed a peace sign up to their cheering section before putting her hand to the back of Carl's head in a set of bunny ears as he was called up to the mound. Judith found this very, very funny.

He had met Carol and Sophia about ten years ago during a domestic disturbance call. It had easily been one of the most harrowing of his life. He and Shane forced their way past a shouting, red-faced, drunken man and found Carol, sprawled in a corner and grisly with blood. Looking at her, Rick had felt certain she was dead. It wasn’t until he drew close enough to hear the soft sniffles coming from beneath her limp body that the entire horrifying tableau became clear.

Carol had been curled protectively around a tiny girl, who was entirely unscathed beneath her mother’s body. A girl just about Carl’s age. Rick had nearly thrown up beside them.

Carol’s husband went away to do hard time for attempted murder and a handful of lesser charges. Shane had smashed his face in pretty good, knocked out a handful of teeth, but the DA looked the other way. For once, Rick wasn’t inclined to scold Shane for his lack of restraint. Carol recovered slowly from her injuries, and she and Rick struck up a friendship in the wake of the nightmare that had first introduced them. When Lori died five years later, it was Carol that had helped pick up the pieces as Rick crumbled under the loss. Shane was there, sure, but Carol knew how to keep a house running through a crisis.

“I have to get to the station soon,” Rick murmured to her as he watched Carl jog over to the plate. “Thanks for taking them both. I know Carl thinks he’s too old for it, but I hate to leave him alone when I do an overnight.”

Carol smiled at him and shoved at his shoulder. “Shut up, Rick. You know I’m happy to look after them. Besides-”

A loud crack split the air as Carl’s bat connected with the ball, and Rick watched it sail far into the midfield. Carl bolted to second base before the other team got a glove on it, and Rick cheered along with the crowd.

“He’s very talented.” The woman on Carol’s left leaned forward and smiled shyly at Rick.

“Thanks, Jessie,” he replied, mirroring her smile. Carol had met the young woman a few months ago at a support group for survivors of domestic violence. Jessie Anderson had moved to town a year ago after her husband went to prison - not for the terror and violence he had rained down on his family for years, but for enough white-collar crime to earn him what amounted to a life sentence. The trial had been something of a sensation in her hometown up north, as her husband had been a prominent physician on the board of their local hospital, and Jessie had fled with her two sons to the relative anonymity of King County, Georgia the moment the ink was dry on her divorce papers.

“Jessie’s bringing Ron and Sam over after the game, so the kids can watch movies and help me bake. They’ll have a blast.” She nudged Rick’s shoulder again. “We’ll miss you. I’ll save you a plate of cookies.”

Rick leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I hope so. But not if the kids get to ‘em.”

“Oh - Sophia’s up! Go, Sophia!” Jessie cheered, clasping Carol’s hand.

Carol put two fingers in her mouth and let out a shrill whistle, and her daughter flashed another peace sign to the crowd in acknowledgement. Jessie reached over and squeezed Carol’s forearm in anticipation with her free hand, her eyes glued to the girl at bat.

Rick smiled to himself as he watched the two women. Last week, he had let himself into Carol’s home with his spare key to come pick up the kids after another late shift, and he had found them nestled on the couch together, Carol’s hands buried in the burnished gold of Jessie’s hair as their lips met in a slow, sweet kiss. Rick had backed away quietly, not wanting to intrude on the moment, and he went all the way back to the front door before making a more noisy entrance. This time he found them sitting a few feet apart. Jessie was pink, and Carol had a knowing curve to her lips that told Rick his second, more theatrical entrance hadn’t fooled her.

The melancholy didn’t hit him until later, when the kids were in bed and he was slipping under the covers himself.

He and Carol had been a team for so long, and they were a damn good one. He realized that there was a part of him that thought they were headed easily and unhurriedly towards a marriage, like a pair of boats sailing pleasantly through a sunny harbor in no particular hurry to dock. He had been wrong, and the loneliness burned behind his ribs like it was actually eating him away.

Rick kissed Judith’s fluffy blonde curls gently before handing her over to Carol. Judith immediately snuggled into her lap, never taking her eyes off the noise and activity of the field. Sophia had driven a screamer right down the center, and Carl touched home before the other players even got close to the wildly bouncing and rolling ball. Sophia was on third when the dust settled, and the four of them clapped, whistled, and cheered wildly. Rick wasn’t entirely sure Judith understood the progression of the game, but she certainly enjoyed voicing her enthusiasm along with the crowd.

Carol looked over at him as she put an arm around Judith’s slim frame. “Already?” she asked softly. The silver-blue of her eyes sparkled in the warmth of the sun, already well along its descent to the waiting arms of the horizon. Her eyes reflected a kindred wistfulness, knowing what was in his mind.

“I wish I…” he began, but he trailed off. “You know what I wish,” he concluded with a faint smile. “Hope Carl isn’t too disappointed. At least I saw him hit.”

“He’ll be happy about that, Rick. Although,” she went on, brow furrowing a little, “he keeps saying he wants you to meet his coach.”

—

It dawned on him that there might be something more to Carl’s insistence when he started suggesting venues other than his practices.

“You want me to ask him to what?” Rick was halfway under the kitchen sink, wrench in hand, trying to fix a maddeningly persistent leak.

“Dr-i-nks,” Carl enunciated slowly, as if he were talking to a toddler.

Rick huffed a laugh, lifting his head to stare out at his son standing over him with his arms crossed.

“Drinks? I don’t think that would be a real… _appropriate_ way to have a conference with a teacher.”

Carl’s answering eye roll seemed to recruit his entire body in expressing his contempt. “It’s not a _conference_. It’s not like I’m failing something. I just want you to meet him. What’s the big deal? I thought that getting to go drinking whenever you want is one of the perks of getting old.”

“I’m not ol- what’re you talkin’ about? You think I get to go drinkin’ whenever I want? You see me here tryin’ to figure out what’s goin’ on with the sink for the last hour, don’t you?” Rick dropped his head back and sighed. “I don’t think I’m makin’ any progress at all. Turn the sink on.”

Carl eyed him doubtfully from behind his curtain of dark hair. “You sure about that, dad?”

“Yeah. Let’s see what we got.”

“Okay, but remember that you asked me to.”

Rick stared watchfully at the pipes as Carl twisted the knob. He heard a faint dripping start up somewhere to his left.

 _A-ha,_ he thought triumphantly. _Got you, you little bastard._ He reached up to feel for the loose bolt, and suddenly the dripping became a pattering. “Carl, turn it off!” he yelped, wriggling inelegantly away from the cold puddle of water spreading underneath him. He emerged from beneath the sink with a groan, rolling his shoulders and feeling the sodden cling of his shirt. “Thought for sure I had it,” he said gloomily, reaching back to squeeze water from his now-dripping hair.

Carl was standing over him, wearing his perennial _ugh-dad-I-told-you-so_ expression.

Rick met his gaze and gave a rueful chuckle, and he was surprised to the see the expression slip off Carl’s face to be replaced by something softer and more uncertain. Something a little sad.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about,” Carl said, frowning as he reached over to tear off a thick sheaf of paper towels. “You need to…you need to not be under the sink all the time, dad.”

Rick looked at him blankly. “What? I ain’t under the-“

“It’s a _metaphor,_ ” Carl sighed. “About you. You need to get out more.”

Rick was patting at the back of his head and neck with the paper towels, and at that he paused, shooting his son a suspicious look from beneath the curls that had fallen untidily over his forehead. “What does that have to do with me meeting your teachers?”

“I dunno,” Carl replied airily.

Rick drew his knees up and gave an incredulous bark of a laugh. “Carl, you tryin’ to set me up with your coach?”

“I dunno,” Carl said again, stretching his arms up as if the conversation bored him. “You want me to call a plumber?”

Rick cast a defeated glance over his shoulder at the sink. “Yeah,” he sighed. “I guess I do.”

—

Rick didn’t recognize Carl’s next scheme for what it was.

The three of them were spending a rare quiet evening together after dinner. Rick was helping Judith practice tying her shoes on a pair of old sneakers.

Carl was sprawled on the couch, tapping endlessly on his phone. All of a sudden, he piped up. “Spring formal’s in two weeks.”

“Yeah?” Rick said absently, watching as Judith painstakingly wrapped two loops of shoelace around each other.

“Bunny ears cross over,” she narrated matter-of-factly.

“That’s right, sugar. You’re doin’ fine.” Rick smiled as Judith beamed proudly at him.

“They’re still looking for chaperones,” Carl said.

Rick chuckled as he sat back on his heels and looked up at his son. “You sayin’ you want me at your dance?”

Carl shrugged. “Why not? It’s cool with me.” He hesitated. “It’s fine if you have to work or whatever,” he mumbled, eyes still glued to his phone.

Rick felt his stomach give a guilty wrench, and the amused smile fell off his face. “I’ll find someone to cover,” he said softly. “Sure I’ll be there. I’m sorry I’ve been so busy, Carl. I know I haven’t been around as much as -“

“It’s fine, dad,” Carl said, finally looking over the edge of his phone and into his father’s earnest blue gaze. “I get it. You’ve been swamped.”

Somehow, that only made Rick feel guiltier, but he was distracted by Judith triumphantly thrusting the old sneaker into his face. “I did it!” she squealed.

Rick kissed the top of her blonde head, taking the sneaker from her and making a show of admiring her handiwork.

He stood in front of his closet later that night, gazing into it uncertainly. He didn’t have much in the way of formal clothes. He had worn his only black suit to Lori’s funeral all those years ago, and now he kept it shoved in the furthest reaches of his closet. He recoiled from even touching it, as if his grief had sunk into its very threads and left it cursed. He caught a flash of soft grey as he shuffled some hangers around, and he sighed in relief as he pulled out the suit he had worn to Maggie Greene’s wedding last year. He heard steps in his doorway, and he turned with a sheepish smile.

“This the kinda thing you wear to a spring formal?” he asked with a self-conscious chuckle, holding the suit out.

“Yeah,” Carl said softly. “That looks right.” He crossed over to stand beside Rick and peered into the closet before reaching in to extract a pale blue silk tie. “That one,” he said simply, laying it over the shoulder of the grey suit.

Something felt heavy and unspoken between them, and Rick shuffled his feet for a moment. “Carl,” he began hesitantly, “I -“

“I want you to have fun,” Carl interrupted, looking searchingly up at him from beneath the silky hair tumbling over his forehead. “It’s supposed to be fun. There’s gonna be food, and the music should be okay, and the decorations aren’t _that_ lame. Okay?”

“Okay,” Rick replied softly, reaching over and briefly squeezing Carl’s shoulder. “Sure. Don’t - don’t worry about me.”

Carl gave a faint snort, a smile hovering at the edges of his mouth.

“What about you?” Rick asked as he carefully hung the suit back up in the closet. “You lookin’ forward to it? Goin’ with someone special?”

“Me an’ Sophia are going as friends.”

“Just friends?” Rick asked with a sly smile.

Carl shrugged. “There’s someone I wish I could go with, but she has a boyfriend.”

“Oh.” Rick was a little taken aback - it was the first he had heard of it. “Someone I know?”

“Maybe. We all hang out.” Carl bit his lip for a minute. “Her boyfriend’s a jerk. He’s my friend, but he’s a huge jerk. But there’s nothing I can do.” There was an air of weary resignation to the pronouncement that felt older than Carl’s fifteen years.

“Well, you can keep bein’ a good friend. If something’s meant to happen down the line, it’ll happen.” _Your mother dated Shane before she dated me,_ he nearly added, but he caught himself. He wasn’t sure that kids ever really wanted that kind of detail about their parents’ romantic lives. Besides, it was an unflatteringly apt comparison - Shane had grown up a lot in the intervening years, but while he was dating Lori, he was unmistakably a jerk.

Carl had tilted his head and smiled. “That’s what coach said.”

—

Shane was the one who covered his shift the night of the dance, although he did it with a fair amount of good-natured ribbing.

_You goin’ to the ball, Cinderella? Shee-it. Hope the mice sew your dress up in time._

“What kind of music are they gonna play?” Rick asked as he tugged at the knot in his tie. “Can I request something?” He grinned at the loud groan that was met with.

Carl was finishing up getting dressed in the bathroom, and Rick was waiting for him outside the cracked door. Judith was with Carol for the night. Rick had briefly thought about dressing her up and bringing her, but both the inevitably eardrum-bursting volume of the music and the late hour would probably be too much for a five-year-old.

“You’re not allowed to request music, Dad, okay? If I hear a banjo, I’ll know it was you, and then we’ll have to move because I can never go back to school again. Do you wanna move?”

“You’re the one that invited me, remember?” Rick laughed. “You can’t be embarrassed now.”

“Yes I can,” Carl retorted. “If there’s a banjo.” The door opened and Carl stepped out, fiddling with the gold bow-tie at his neck. “Does this look dumb?” he asked self-consciously. He was wearing a dark navy three-piece suit he had picked out with Carol.

Rick shook his head, throat tightening. “You’re gonna make fun of me for sayin’ this, but you look….all grown up.”

“That’s _super_ cliché,” Carl said, but there was a pleased smile spreading across his face, and he stepped over to Rick and put his arms around his waist in a careful, suit-sparing hug. Rick kissed the top of his head.

“There’s gel in there,” Carl warned.

Rick grimaced and rubbed the back of his mouth with his hand. “Sure is.”

—

Carl and Sophia seemed to melt instantly into the crowd of teenagers as soon as they stepped into the auditorium. Rick was left standing in the dimly lit space, taking in the glittering decorations. He was impressed with what the kids had come up with - there were shimmering constellations on the ceilings and suspended stars and planets gently twirling overhead. Appropriately enough, _Fly Me to the Moon_ was playing, and Rick smiled to himself. He had danced to Sinatra at his own high school dances, and it was nice to know that some things were timeless. He walked over to the refreshment table, hoping to run into another parent.

There was a man standing with his back turned as Rick approached. The man reached for a glass, and his cuff slid up slightly to reveal an inked wrist. He noticed Rick close behind him and turned towards him with a smile that was dazzling even in the muted lighting. He was arrestingly handsome, with a roguish air that seemed barely contained by the natty clothes he was wearing. Rick got the distinct sense it was a costume.

 _Wolf in sheep’s clothing._ The phrase flashed across his mind, and he finally found his voice after what felt like an embarrassing eternity of staring wordlessly. “I’m Rick Grimes, I’m one of the…the parent chaperones. I don’t exactly know what I’m supposed to do here, and I was hopin’ you could help me out.”

“You’re Rick Grimes,” the other man said slowly, and the smile that curled his mouth looked almost predatory. “Well…fuck,” he laughed openly at the face Rick pulled at the vulgarity. “I wish I’d known that sooner.” He stepped forward, directly towards him and into his space, and Rick confusedly tried to move to the side, but the man was slipping an arm around his waist and taking his hand. He swayed him to the music, or he tried to - Rick’s feet were leaden.

“What are you doing?” Rick demanded, utterly nonplussed.

“Dancing, Rick Grimes. You do know how, don’t you? You’re gonna have to move your feet a little.”

Rick realized how flustered he must have looked, as they were attracting a bit of attention. He quickly laid a hand on the other man’s arm by his shoulder and stepped in time with him, letting him float them closer to the dance floor, hoping they blended in with the handful of other adults. “ _Why_ are we dancin’?” he asked quietly, feeling his cheeks burn.

“It’s a dance, Rick. Music’s playing, isn’t it?” The other man chuckled, and he was holding Rick so close he could feel it thrumming in his chest. “What’s wrong? You don’t like dancing?”

“No, I…I like dancin’ fine,” Rick replied, turning his hot face to the side.

“Oh, you don’t like Sinatra?”

“Sinatra’s fine,” Rick laughed.

“Oh, fuck. Guess you don’t like _me._ ” The man gave a regretful _tsk_. “That’s too damn bad. Because your son’s been playin’ cupid for us just about all season, in case you haven’t noticed.”

 _Oh._ “You…you’re the baseball coach?”

“I’m the baseball coach,” the man agreed. “Negan. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Rick groaned, lifting his eyes up in a sheepish gaze. “I’m so sorry about Carl, he…I don’t know what he was thinkin’.”

“ _I’m_ the one who’s sorry. I wish I’d tried a little fucking harder to catch you at practice, pun intended. You’re smokin’ hot.”

Rick felt the burn in his cheeks rise to an open flame at that, and he averted his eyes again on instinct, cursing himself a little for acting like a shy teenager.

“Carl tells me you’re a cop,” Negan went on, a wicked little insinuation in his tone. “Like, with the uniform and everything?”

Rick wondered if it were actually possible to blush yourself to death. He felt like he might turn into a pile of embarrassed cinders in Negan's arms. His tongue was tied up in knots, and he stared at the dark sheen of the fabric covering Negan’s broad shoulder as he groped for something clever to say.

The man chuckled and tugged him a little closer. “Shit, Grimes, I’m sorry. In case you haven’t figured, I got a one-track mind, and that track leads straight to the gutter.”

“No kiddin’,” Rick finally managed, and he cringed a little. It was hardly the most sparkling example of his wit.

“Mm,” Negan rumbled, the mischief back in his tone. He bent his head, and Rick felt his pulse pick up and his palms grow damp as warm breath fanned the side of his face. “But blue eyes, that’s what makes me so much fucking _fun_.”

His voice was an intimate purr in Rick’s scarlet ear, the words spoken like a dirty secret, and Rick's legs were suddenly none too steady. He continued to dance in silence as he tried to collect himself. He didn’t think _anyone_ had ever made such a bold play for him, and he didn’t know what the hell to do with it.

“Let’s get you some punch, officer. You look a little, uh…overheated.”

That loosened Rick’s tongue a little, and he huffed a laugh as he shot back, “Maybe if you’d let up with the late night hotline stuff for a second, _coach._ ”

Negan gave a delighted laugh as he led Rick over to the refreshment table with his hand still firmly splayed on his low back. “You think I could do that, Rick? Shit, I could use a second job. Hard surviving on a teacher’s salary.”

He poured Rick a clear, plastic champagne flute of deep blue punch and waited until two chattering teens moved out of ear shot. “Would you pay 99-cents a minute, Ricky?” he asked as he handed the glass over, voice velvet soft and thick with innuendo.

It’s true that Rick almost dropped the glass, but he was still more ready for him this time around. “Now why would I do that?” he asked archly. “Seems like I’m about to get it for free.”

Negan rocked back on his heels, as if Rick’s words had tipped him back like a bowling pin. He let out a soft, sliding whistle, and his tongue peeked out at him from the corner of his smirking lips. “Officer Grimes, _sir,_ ” he said appreciatively. “I would _love_ to give it to you for free.”

Rick choked down a mouthful of punch, feeling far too warm in his clothes. The man’s eyes were smoldering at him indecently, and Rick was intensely aware of the crowd. What color were his eyes, anyway? He had thought they were a caramelly brown on the dance floor, but there was some glimmering, flashing light hanging above them that caught his eyes and turned them greenish-blue and then gold and then greenish-blue again… “Decorations are nice,” he managed when he came up for air after nearly draining his glass.

Negan gave him a long-suffering look as he poured himself a glass. “Maybe if you didn’t have to live this shit 24/7 for the last goddamn month. I swear to Christ, Rick, the entire school has been fucking infested with glitter ever since they started decorating for this thing. I find it fucking _everywhere._ ”

Rick snorted into his punch, and Negan chuckled with him. “Can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, no? You got some on your face, officer.”

Rick groaned, lifting a hand to his cheek. “Oh, hell - where? I’ll never get it off.”

“Come on,” Negan said, draining his glass and tossing it into a bin beside the table. “Let’s go where there’s some light.” He walked away without looking back, as if it would never even enter his head that Rick wouldn’t just follow. After a moment of huffing to himself about that, Rick did, in fact, follow. He followed him down the dimly lit hallways until they made it to just outside the restrooms, the fluorescent lights here on and glaring overhead.

Negan turned and put a steadying hand on his shoulder, and Rick’s heart jumped as he got close again, close enough that he caught the faint scent of leather. “Shit, it’s almost in your mouth.” Negan gently pressed a finger at the corner of his lips. After a moment, he drew his hand carefully away, holding up his finger so Rick could see the tiny, star-shaped spangle clinging to the pad. Expression utterly serious, he slowly pressed the star into the crest of his own cheekbone, just beneath his eye. “Think I can pull it off, Rick?”

Rick laughed breathily. The proximity had loosed his adrenaline, and he felt his heart pounding, palms sweating, breath quickening - he was at a high-school dance, and he _felt_ like he was back in high-school, getting shaky and nervous around a crush. “Yeah. It’s a look, all right.”

A hand slid into his hair, turning his head gently, giving him ample time and space to pull away. He didn’t, and he caught a flash of a smirk on the other man’s lips before they descended on his own in a firm, brief, close-mouthed kiss. Rick shivered, unable to help himself, as the other man pulled back just enough to let his lips hover over his in an unspoken question. Rick gave his answer by parting his lips and closing the tiny distance between them again. That was all the encouragement Negan needed to lick his full lower lip lightly before licking past it, right into his willing mouth. Rick gripped the other man’s waist as their mouths danced wetly, his head swimming, limbs shaking, and everything was just rushing straight to his-

Feminine giggling brought him crashing back to reality, and he jerked back to see two teenage girls hurry past them, hands clasped over their mouths.

“Jesus,” Rick groaned. “I think we just lost the moral high ground. We’re supposed to be stopping them from sneaking off to…do this,” he mumbled, staring at the undone button at Negan’s collar. A loop of ink peeked over the crisp white of his shirt. He wondered how much more ink there was under that-

 _Stop it, Grimes,_ he scolded himself. He was going to need a cold shower if he didn’t get a hold of himself, and quickly.

Negan chuckled, still holding him close. “Stop teenagers from sucking face? Not gonna happen, Rick.”

“What kinda attitude is that for a teacher?” Rick asked wryly.

“The kind that you get after you do this shit for a few years. Can I interest you in a private tour of the janitor’s closet?”

Rick spluttered for a moment. “Not with these kids around, Negan!”

“Had a feeling you were gonna say that,” Negan sighed with exaggerated mournfulness. He put his hand on the small of Rick’s back again, and Rick couldn’t help but shiver under the touch. “Okay, officer. I can take ‘no’ for an answer, as long as you dance with me a little again.”

—

Rick drummed his hands on the steering wheel, waiting for Carl and Sophia to make their appearance. He pulled out his phone a little sheepishly, scrolling down to the new contact there. _Negan,_ the contact name said. In the space for the last name - _call for a good time._

Rick had spent the rest of the evening with him, retreating against a far wall to talk once the music changed into something ear-splitting. He was utterly derelict in his duties as a chaperone, but at least a few parents were flitting around and putting a stop to the more egregious “dancing.” Negan had taken his phone at one point, shooting him another smoldering look from beneath his lashes as he tapped in his number.

“Don't wait until the next practice,” he had murmured as he reached around and slid it into his back pocket, not missing the opportunity for a squeeze. It was at the exact moment that the principal, a slight, elegant woman by the name of Deanna Monroe, was walking by. She shot them a look that was equal parts startled and amused, and she gave Negan an exasperated little shake of her head. He saluted in return, flashing her an unrepentant grin.

“Damn it, Negan,” Rick had said in a strangled tone, wishing he could blend in with the wall.

He could still hear his laugh ringing in his ears, and he was so lost in thought that he nearly dropped the phone in surprise when the back doors to the car opened. Carl slid in one side, and Sophia slid in the other with a crinkly rustle of skirts.

“You kids have fun?” he asked, waiting for the click of seatbelts before he started up the car.

“Yeah,” they said in unison.

“Decorations were awesome,” Sophia said, “but I think I swallowed some glitter.”

Rick laughed a little ruefully. “Me too.”

The kids chatted in the back seat as Rick drove Sophia home. He glanced in the rearview mirror a few times, trying to read Carl’s expression. It was placid enough, and Rick supposed his son hadn’t caught on to the fact that he had ended up spending the entire night with the man he had been trying so hard to set him up with.

Sophia gave Rick a kiss on the cheek before she clambered out of the car, and then Rick and Carl were left alone.

Rick cleared his throat. “I finally met your coach,” he ventured. “He seems nice.”

“Nice, huh?” Carl’s face broke out into a grin, and Rick knew he was caught. “Save it, Dad,” Carl snickered, “Enid saw you sucking face with him. I totally called it.”

“I-wh-I was not - we just -“ Rick burst into a fit of embarrassed laughter at Carl’s gloating expression. “All right, all right.” He released the parking break and was about to pull out into the road when he paused. “Why did you call it?” He asked curiously. “What made you so sure? He’s so…”

 _Different than your mother,_ is what he almost said, but luckily he held that back in time.

Carl shrugged and looked thoughtful for a moment. “I don’t know. He’s cool with us. He pays attention to what’s going on, but he's not all serious about it. He just seems like he could take care of you, I guess.”

Rick shot his son a startled glance. “You think I need to be taken care of?”

Carl rolled his eyes. “No. Just…you’re always thinking of everyone else. You should have someone who does that for you. And you need to have more fun. You’re under the sink all the time.”

“Hm. _Metaphor,_ ” Rick said with exaggerated solemnity. “Glad you’re payin’ attention in class.”

 _Whatever, dad,_ echoed in the balmy spring air as the old Ford pulled away from the curb and rumbled gently down the street towards home.

 


End file.
